Lorraine didn’t wear no makeup, and she didn’t need to. Lor’ bless her, cheeks cherry-red and those long curly black locks making a nice picture frame for her face. Skin so silky smooth you couldn’t tell where nightgown ended and legs began—I ain’t saying I don’t miss her.
I come home one night, she there in the living room dancing in her skivvies. All alone, no music. Just her swaying side to side humming, and a martini glass sittin’ on the coffee table.
First thing I do, I pull the curtains shut. “Lorraine! You want all the neighbors looking in here? With you like that?”
She don’t answer, just looks me in the eye an’ walks over. Slow and slinky. Puts her hand on my shoulder, struts ‘round behind me and pulls in real close to my ear. “Baby,” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I’s looking down at her arm she has wrapped around my chest, feelin’ my heart beat right in the palm of her hand.
“I need a favor.” She’s purring like a cat on the prowl.
“What do you need, Lorraine?”
She stops cold. “…five thousand dollars.”